


Cry

by LeathernLaces



Series: Polaroids [5]
Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst, Depression, Emotional Hurt, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Nothing is okay, Other, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2018-07-12
Packaged: 2019-06-09 07:00:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15261951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeathernLaces/pseuds/LeathernLaces
Summary: Sometimes Daryl winds up keeping an eye on Judith. Sometimes they wander around aimlessly. He'll take her to the pond or the gardens. Other times he'll take her to the graves.





	Cry

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of my Polaroids series. If you are familiar with that, or my main series (Way Down We Go) you will know that these fics take place in the WDWG universe. However, you do NOT need to be familiar with WDWG to read this. You just don't. If I can suggest you read anything - Check out 'Hurt' by me. It's in this series but also works as a standalone. It gives you insight into how I feel Daryl's mind is working at this point in time! (early season 8) 
> 
> This works just as well as a standalone piece. 
> 
> My work is not beta'd. Any mistakes are my own!

 

 

Sometimes he just winds up with Judith. Not often, but with all the preparations, everyone’s doing something. He doesn’t mind it at all. Judith is still young, she’s just starting to be a person. She’s just starting to talk, not much but a few small words here and there. He doesn’t mind her babbling, or that giggle she lets out when she’s particularly pleased. All in all – she’s decent company. Better than most if he’s being honest.

 

 

There’s a shitload of noise on the main road where they’re working on the cars, so rather than set her up on the porch with a couple of toys Daryl opts to take her for a walk. Crossbow strapped to his back and Judith held securely to his chest. He’s not gonna one-arm it. She’s not fragile, people keep telling him that but it’s pretty goddamn hard to believe them. She’s so small still.

 

 

He could take her to the ponds or the gardens. Where any normal person might have, so she could see the ducks or the butterflies or something. She’s young enough that she doesn’t really have any preferences yet. As long as she’s got one of those solo cups she loves so much, or a stuffed animal, could cart her anywhere and she’d be just fine.

 

 

That’s how they wind up in the graveyard.

 

 

It’s a bright sunny day. Everything’s neat, the graves are tended to. Probably not the best place for an outing but Judith’s too busy gnawing on the red cup to care much about anything. Daryl walks the graves quietly. When they first got here, all the names etched into the crosses held now meaning. Now the yard's double in size, and he’s even helped dig half the holes.

 

 

He doesn’t stop at a fresher grave. Not one where the soil has been freshly turned, not one with fresh flowers or little trinkets on it.

 

 

There’s no name on the one at the end of the row, closest to the wall. Looks the same as any other only it isn’t. Glenn had made this one because his hands has been shaking too badly, he’d nearly tossed the fucking hammer.

 

 

“Been awhile since I’ve been here,” He mumbles under his breathe. A long while. Too long. Had anyone else come while he’d been at the Sanctuary? What about when he’d been at the Kingdom or the Hilltop? “Guess you wouldn’t remember her – would you?” He glances down at Judith who has opted for shaking the cup like she’s expecting something to fall from it.

 

 

“She was like a mom to you. One of them, never knew a kid with as many goddamn parents as you’ve got.” Ain’t that the truth. “Barely put you down from day one. Helped your daddy out loads, hardly saw the two of you apart.”

 

 

He doesn’t know much about kids but there’s got to be no chance Judith could recall her. Absolutely none. “Her name was Beth. Maggie’s little sister. She might’ve been the best damn thing in this world.” At that, the cup drops to the grass beneath his feet and Daryl feels a pang of guilt. As if she’d dropped it in protest. “’Cept for you.”

 

 

He kneels down for it but stops. Crouched there over the grave his hand darts away from the cup. There’s some dirt at the base of the cross, it hasn’t quite set like the rest. That’s because he’d disturbed it, and he keeps disturbing it every once and awhile. He can’t help it. His fingers brush away the clumps of grass and the rest until they find what they’re after.

 

 

Judith’s too pre-occupied with going for the cup. She doesn’t seem to care much about what he’s got in his other hand. At least, not until he rests the leather sheath against his leg and slides the knife out. It’s a little dirty, he probably should have wrapped it in plastic or something. Not that it matters, he cleans it every time he brings it out. Daryl holds it up just out of reach, slowly turning the blade and examining it. As if he didn’t already know where every scuff and line on the steel was. How long had he spent staring at it since that day in the woods?

 

 

The way the sun catches on the blade also catches Judith’s attention. Normally, he’d give her whatever the hell she’s making grabby hands at. It’s usually a cup or some age-appropriate shit. “You ain’t old enough for this.” Not yet, anyway. “ ‘Sides this is mine.” Technically it’s Beth’s. It had been Beth’s. Just because Carol had given it to him didn’t mean that it had ever stopped being hers.

 

 

He can’t take ownership of the thing. It’s fucking stupid because it’s just a knife and it ain’t like she’s ever coming back. Dead can’t own shit. That’s why he keeps it. That’s why he cleans it, makes sure it stays sharp. Keeps it hidden away. Not because he thinks for a fucking second that Beth’s gonna rise up like Christ himself and demand it back. No, because it was hers.

 

 

It’s all he’s got left of her. The last thing that he can touch and feel. He probably should have given it to Maggie, but fuck it. Maybe he’s a selfish prick for keeping it but Carol had given it to him. Not Maggie. Not anybody else. _Him._

 

 

Still the kid persists. Of course she does. It’s shiny and everybody gives her whatever she wants anyways. “Maybe when you’re older I’ll teach ya how to use it. We can share or something.” He grunts out as he wipes the blade on the leg of his pants. That sounds like something Beth would have done. Shared.

 

 

He stares at the blade. Judith squirms impatiently against his chest. It isn’t fucking right. He shouldn’t have this fucking knife. He shouldn’t be sitting there trying to explain to Judith who Beth was. Like she’s some sort of myth, one of those stories in the books Carl an’ Michonne are always reading her.

 

 

She shouldn’t be fucking gone. She should be the one holding the kid, not him.

 

 

She should be right fucking there with him. She should be. It’s his fault that she ain’t. His fault. His fuck up.

 

 

He’s shaking now. That anger, it comes on hard and fast. He jerks his arm back and sends the knife flying. It hits crashes against the wall, the impact makes a loud enough sound that the little thing in his arms jumps and lets out a startled cry. That pulls him out of it instantly.

 

 

_Fuck, fuck, fuck._

 

 

He shouldn’t have done that. He should not have done that. He may as well have just gone and wrecked the two most precious things that he has left. The knife and the kid.

 

 

He pulls Judith closer. Wraps her up tight against him. “Shit, I’m sorry kid I just - “ Still she cries. The embrace isn’t enough. It doesn’t do its job. He’s still shaking. He’s pissed, and her crying is grating. He can’t help it. He doesn’t know how to deal with this shit. Normally, when it comes on he’ll go hunting or hit shit. Normally he doesn’t have company. Normally there isn’t someone around to witness.

 

Daryl rocks back on his feels. Then forward, then back. For whatever reason, the kid always seemed to like that. Maybe he does it for her, maybe he does it to see if it’ll calm him any. Because he’s shaking, his heart is pounding in his chest. It’s not fear, they’re safe behind the walls. It’s a whole slew of other emotions that he’s feeling.

 

 

Anger and hate. Towards himself, towards Beth. How could she have been so stupid? They had her. They had her then she had to go and fucking die for what, the worlds smallest pair of scissors? He can never stay angry at her long. No matter how he tries. The self loathing always sees to that. Always reminds him that if he hadn't let her get taken in the first place - she wouldn't have had the chance to pull some shit like that. She would have lived. 

 

 

Then there’s the immeasurable sadness. The shit he feels like he might just drown in some days. There’s a choked sob that mixes with the girl’s hiccups. Way too deep to be Judith’s. _Fuck_.

 

 

“Come on. _Please_.” There's no way that sound is comforting her. The strangled one that he has to force out of his throat. 

 

 

She would know what to do. She would know how to get Judith to stop crying.

 

 

But she’s not there. She’s never gonna be there.

 

 

None of this is right. Judith shouldn’t be crying, he shouldn’t have thrown the goddamn knife. He shouldn’t have _had_ the knife to throw. The knife should have been with Beth. Never should have made it to his hands because she should have lived. She should have walked out of that hospital with them. None of it, none of it should have happened.

 

 

But it did.

 

 

So maybe they should fucking cry.

 

**Author's Note:**

> My answer to the question "But where is Beth's knife?"
> 
> Daryl hid it for safe keeping. Somewhere where he could always go back to it, but in a place where no one (Like some asshole Savior) would ever think to look) 
> 
> Also I'm sorry. I don't know if this is worse than Hurt, but it's something.


End file.
